


Klein Bottle.

by Basingstoke



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-20
Updated: 2007-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-02 19:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right now, Jack is living in linear time. He wasn't in the past. He won't be in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Klein Bottle.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to elynross, Melina, and jacquez for beta.

You're driving. You can feel the ground through the pedals, and that makes it, you think, even more primal than driving a horse and carriage. In a carriage your connection is to the horse; here, your connection is to the Earth itself. If your ass were more sensitive you could feel the tectonic plates grinding across the planet.

Two thousand years from now, this very spot will be inland, as the glaciers in Canada drain the sea, and the locals will bitch about the weather machines and petition for more summer. Today, though, you're driving along the bay, and you have no control over the light rain that coats the road.

You have a load of meteorite fragments that may or may not be interesting in the back of the SUV. You know from history that Torchwood Institute will have the largest collection of docelxium in the world not to long from now, when people learn how to make spaceship engines out of it, and you're pretty sure that pretty blue sparkle is a great big vein of ore. If it's not, you'll have a great paperweight.

"Jack, pull over," Tosh says.

"Coffee catching up with you?" you ask.

"Alien technology," she says.

You pull over. The motion wakes the others in the back. You have the whole team with you tonight, Owen sprawled across one seat, Ianto and Gwen folded over each other in the other. "Weapon?" you ask Tosh.

"I think so."

"Okay. Wake up, guys, time to go to work." They slap themselves awake without complaint. Owen pulls out some deadly little caffeinated drink; Ianto passes out guns; Tosh takes more readings; Gwen checks her magazine. You check your wrist computer and find a time paradox in the vicinity. "Huh," you say. "This could get strange."

"Strange?" Tosh raises an eyebrow at you. Her tone says that "strange" doesn't belong in Torchwood's vocabulary.

"Strange," you repeat.

When everyone is alert, you walk into the woods. The trees shower you with sticky water, and you wish, really most sincerely wish, that you had thought to bring a sonic umbrella back to this time. Nobody would notice. They already think you have super powers; would it be that much worse to have dry hair?

Tosh walks in front of you, gun in her holster and sensor in her hands. You're covering her. The others are covering you. None of you speak; Tosh points in the right direction and everyone follows.

You take her shoulder when you realize you can't feel the rain, and everyone stops. You reach a hand back along your path and feel rain; in front of you, none. You gesture them in and whisper, "Sonic umbrella."

What a coincidence.

You spread out. When you see the figure, you switch on your brightest torch and say, "Freeze."

"Oh, damn," the figure says. He has your voice. "That's embarrassing." When he turns, he has your face. He grins. He is Jack Harkness.

The others shine their torches on the other Jack, as well. He has a shovel in his hand, but his gun is holstered. It's not the one you carry now; it looks sonic.

"Uh," Owen says, "evil twin?"

"Gamma 1784, June 21st, 10:17:02 in the morning," Jack says to you, losing his grin, and you know that you are the same person. You never, ever, ever talk about that day. You talk about your best friend. You even tell people sometimes about being taken prisoner of war. You do not tell people about staring at the wall, at the cold blue numbers ticking by far too slowly, or that you know the exact second that your best friend started to scream.

"That's me," you say. The other you nods. You know you both are seeing the numbers. Eighteen seconds later, they wrenched your head around and held it in place.

"Should we... take you hostage?" Gwen asks.

"No, don't touch him. Back up," you say.

"I have implicit trust in myself," Jack says, grinning again.

"Now, stop that! This is spooky enough already!" Owen says. Ianto, beside him, is looking back and forth between you and Jack, his eyes as wide as saucers. They take a step back, though, as ordered.

Jack laughs. "I've missed you, Owen."

"How-- how far in the future are you... from?" Tosh asks, feeling her way through verb tenses like a pro.

"I have absolutely no idea how to answer that question," Jack says.

"I think what you really want to ask is how much older he is than I am," you say. Personal timeline is the only timeline you have, anymore. You were born in space, some twenty years in the future from now. Your mother was a Time Agent, as well. You grew up in your grandmother's house, fixed in time over three thousand years from now. You went to the Time Academy five thousand years from now.

Your father, your mother told you, was Richard the Lionhearted, but she also told you she would not swear to that in court, so don't even try it, and eat your vegetables, young man. You think you believe her. You don't know if that settles the historical argument about his sexual orientation, because your mother was beautiful but kept her hair very short.

"I don't actually know how much older I am now. I've been jumping around some, bending time. Rodriguez's First Law is a bitch," Jack says. He grins, dazzling your team, and you hear the undercurrent: I didn't keep track because I didn't want to know.

You feel that way now, but you've been living in linear time and you can't help but count the days. You were fifty-four when you met the Doctor--you look younger than that in this era, but they haven't discovered dermal regeneration yet--and it's been onetwothreefour too many years since then. "Long enough," you say. "You're digging under the wrong tree."

Jack looks up at the tree. "How--" Gwen starts. "Right. You only buried one thing under a tree in the Welsh countryside. Jack, why--"

"It's personal," you say.

"Time to get it, though," Jack says. "You all should stand back. If you touch me, you might explode."

Your team stands back, and so do you. If you touch yourself, you'll flatten Cardiff. You bubble with displaced temporal energy.

"Do time travelers often explode?" Tosh asks.

"No. Crossing your own time stream is an amateur move," you say. Jack flips you the bird while he digs. You grin. "Humans are a temporally bound species. Constant movement forward in the time stream is an essential part of how our species interacts with the time-space--"

"Wrong," Jack says.

"Then get me a textbook," you say.

"Christ, it's like some new talk show," Owen says. "Spy vs. Spy."

"I confess. I got a C in Temporal Physics," you say. Tosh smiles unexpectedly. "I have no idea why, but movement back and forth in time builds up a kind of charge. If you directly encounter your own path through time-space, the discharge causes problems."

"Hard to tell what kind of problems, exactly, but I'm pretty sure I would blow up," Jack says. You nod. You aren't sure if your contact with the Doctor would be some buffer, but your future self sounds sure, so apparently you'll learn.

"So if you're traveling back in time, you mustn't touch anything? But--" Tosh looks at Jack, digging in the ground.

"No. Just yourself."

Tosh frowns. "But we mustn't touch him because--"

"Epithelial cells." You brush her hair back from her face. "Sorry. It would be all right, otherwise."

She looks at you. You look at her. You can feel the question between you--*is this your time?*--and you wonder if she'll ask.

"Well, that's a relief," Gwen says. "Else on the Rift, we'd all be going up like cherry bombs. Remember when we found that newspaper from 2052?"

"I'll warn you before you pick up bombs, I promise," you say.

Owen points at you. "But you didn't warn us just now, did you? He did."

"He's me," you and Jack say together. Owen's eyes go very wide before he spins around, rubbing his temples.

"Right," Tosh says. She hugs her sensors to herself. "Right."

Jack hits metal. He reaches down and pulls the steel lunch box out of the hole. You put it there in 1951, right before Torchwood installed the alien tech detectors and found you via your wrist computer. You knew it was coming, because you know your history. You knew they would investigate you and all your belongings. You didn't want them to have this particular item. "Do you want to see it again before I go?" Jack asks.

You shake your head. "I'll see it when I'm you."

"Do you have any messages from the future?" Ianto asks.

"I'm trying to minimize paradoxes," Jack says. "I just wish I'd kept my old datebooks."

"I see. Keep up your files," Ianto says. "Thank you, sir."

Jack looks around at the team, each face in turn, and you know that look. You know how he feels. He's remembering them alive, because he doesn't have them any more. You will lose them like you have lost everyone else. "Bye," Jack says. He activates the transporter and he's gone in an eyeblink.

The rain starts again.

"What was in the box, Jack?" Gwen asks. You were wondering who would.

"It's personal," you say.

"Oh, come on," she says.

"I don't have to tell you everything," you say, starting back towards the car.

"You never tell us anything!"

"I told you my favorite color, my birthday, and how I got that weird scar. That's more than most of my lovers get," you say. "All right, who can keep a secret from me forever?"

"What?" Gwen asks.

"Well, I have to Retcon myself or there will be a paradox. And I have to Retcon whoever can't resist telling me about this," you say. A tree branch strikes you in the face, and you break it off. If you remember this meeting, you won't retrieve your box in the future. The possibility of things going wrong is too high; that's the problem with free will. Nothing is predestined. If you flinch, react badly, you could blow yourself up, so you know it's sensible not to go, but you know you want your box. "So, who can keep a secret?"

They're silent until you get back to the car. You take out the little vial and drop an hour's worth into a bottle of water, then look up at them expectantly.

Owen steps forward and holds out his hand. "You gave yourself the finger," he says, shaking his head.

You grin and give him the bottle, then prep another. "Ianto?"

Ianto looks up at you through his lashes and says nothing. He can keep a secret. Everyone knows that now.

"Tosh?"

"No! No, I won't say a word. Can I ask you later about temporal physics?"

"I got a C," you remind her.

"Well, I have a zero. I'll figure out how to bring it up," she says.

You nod. "Gwen?"

She opens her mouth and closes it. "Why is this optional?" she asks.

"Someone has to drive," you say.

She isn't satisfied, because you didn't answer the question. She's right, you never answer the question. If they really understood you, they'd run, so it's better that Gwen is frowning at you. "No. You've stolen enough of my memories," she says.

You smile at her and drink your own dose. In the SUV, you lean against the window and Ianto tucks a pillow under your head. Owen sighs and grows heavy, leaning against your shoulder.

And you sleep.

*

You are aware of motion, and a low rumble that you identify as a car. You are aware of a feeling of safety that allowed you to sleep. You smell mineral dirt, gun oil, new plastic, and a subtle cologne. Someone is sleeping on your lap.

You know the cologne. Your mind wanders, thinking of people who wear scent (your mother, to cover up the gun oil; Brian, delicious in cinnamon and twia bird) and those who don't (the Doctor, first and foremost; your brother, who always smelled like ketchup; Gwen, oddly, which is why you noticed when she smelled like Owen's cologne). You like Owen's cologne.

You open your eyes and look at Owen's head in your lap. He's still asleep. You wonder when he got so comfortable with you, and then you wonder why you were sleeping in the SUV. You don't sleep much any more.

Gwen looks back from the passenger seat. Ianto is driving, which is why the car is going so slowly. "Good morning, sunshine," she says.

"Is it? Am I?"

"Yes--barely--and no." She's irritated with you. You try to remember why, and realize earlier you told her to wait in the car while you went to poke the meteorite. Well, she'll just have to cope. She's still the newbie.

"Hzin ger ffuh off," Owen says. Gwen laughs, her face brightening, and she takes out her phone and snaps a picture of him. Owen is cupping your knee sweetly. You stroke his hair. You do like him, for all that he's an asshole, and besides, he smells very nice.

"It's two in the morning, sir," Ianto says. He's parking. You're home. You feel very heavy, muddled, which is why you try not to sleep with company. You should have swiped one of Owen's energy drinks rather than falling asleep in the car.

"Owen! Wake up!" Gwen climbs out of the seat and shakes him. "Tosh! We're home!"

"I'm awake," Tosh says. She opens the back door and slides out.

"I'll get the rocks later," Ianto says as he gets out of the car. He shuts the door and his voice is muffled as he speaks to Tosh.

"No," Owen says, clinging to your knee. "Stay." His eyes are still closed. Gwen shakes her head and takes another picture with her phone.

"We can go to your place if you want a cuddle," you tell Owen. "I'm afraid my bed isn't very big."

"Right," Owen mumbles.

"Oh, we're never shifting him. Ianto, help me carry Owen inside!" Gwen calls, heading past you and into the back. You smile at Owen's sleeping face. You can't help thinking of your brother. When you were little, your grandmother took you on the train to the capital city to see your mother every weekend that she was in period. You left in the morning, after the commuters, and returned at night when the lights in the train were dimmed and the swish of the wind past the windows seemed softened. Your brother always fell asleep on you or your grandmother. Sometimes you did, as well, overlapping your brother in her lap, but usually you stayed awake to watch the lights of the houses stream past.

Owen doesn't wake even when Gwen and Ianto haul him out of Jack's lap like a sack of potatoes. "Lucky he has such a girlish figure," Ianto says. He pauses and says, "Well, he certainly is out cold."

"Next time we lift rocks half the night, we're getting a hotel," Gwen says, and then she and Ianto haul Owen into the hub.

You stretch. You want to clear your mind, so instead of following them in, you go up to the roof.

From the top of the Millennium Center, Cardiff looks like lace made of light. Behind you lies the sea, whispering along the waterfront. You think of Cardiff in a thousand years, taller and brighter and huge. You can close your eyes and see it, the way it will look from the skyscrapers of the future, and when you open your eyes, it looks like a child. No plasma cannons here, no superplastic tidal walls fencing off the sea. No floating dock, even. Only steel and glass and concrete, riveted tenuously to the ground, and when it rains--which it is starting to, which wakes you up the rest of the way--it falls everywhere and anywhere that there's sky.

You really wish that you'd thought to bring a personal sonic umbrella, you think as you climb back down to the ground. You can never remember things like that when you travel into the past.

You wonder what you would do if you found a time ship. Leave? You feel an obligation to Torchwood now. You're doing good here. At this crucial time, more than any other, Earth needs someone who knows the whole shape of history and can apply a few gentle nudges. You're not interfering, any more than the Doctor is. It has always been true that the Earth has never been invaded.

You head into your office. You look at your coral in its bubbling tank against the wall. Eventually, if all goes as planned, it will be a Tardis. You told Eddie that, back in 1983, and he didn't believe you; you told him to take it on faith, and he laughed and kissed you and told you he didn't take anything out of your mouth on faith. It hurt to hear that. Eddie moved to Torchwood Two in 1991, after the accident with the memory fragmenter, and it didn't take long for you to stop calling.

The coral will be a Tardis, though. There are things that are true whether people believe them or not. Out in the Cardiff countryside, under a tree, you have your school ID card buried in a stainless steel lunch box. On it are encoded your name--which was not Captain Jack Harkness--your DNA sequence, your school bank account number, and the universal contacts for your next of kin. You like to think about it buried there like a seed of truth. Given the right fertilizer, someone could grow another you.

You smile, thinking about yourself growing from the ground like a dandelion, but it's true. People have been cloned from ID cards--will be, that is, in the future.

Ianto knocks on your open office door, catching your attention. "I'm going home, sir."

"Thank you." You smile at him. "Come back when you've gotten some sleep."

"Owen is downstairs. Tosh and Gwen are on their way home. Are you feeling all right?"

"Fine," you say. "Why?"

"You slept in the car. I thought you might be stiff."

"Nothing I can't take care of," you say, and wink at him. He smiles and retreats.

You tap into the satellites and watch the skies until morning.

The End.


End file.
